


Red-Handed

by KittehBoesternchen



Series: Kuroshitsuji Fairytales [3]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Red Riding Hood Elements, Scotland Yard, Serial Killers, Thriller, burglar!Sebastian, detective!Ciel, murder spree around London
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-06 06:10:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4211016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittehBoesternchen/pseuds/KittehBoesternchen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A gruesome murder spree is happening around the London area. Detective Ciel Phantomhive is running himself ragged trying to catch the perpetrator, which the tabloids are calling the Red Riding Hood killer due to the grisly MO. </p>
<p>When the murders are tied to the Crow burglar, the man Ciel is sleeping with, he has to find out if his lover truly is responsible for the horrors that are happening or if someone is trying to frame him, before anyone else dies. </p>
<p>But he has already caught the killer's attention...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Red-Handed

**Author's Note:**

> So! As usual, I'm super excited about this :3 With Apples&Arsenic done, I just had to keep writing before the muse left me (I chained her up, don't worry). 
> 
> This is a bit different from the other stories; first of all, it features a very adult Ciel. It's also in present tense - I began using past tense, as usual, but it didn't feel right until I changed it. I hope it's not too disconcerting. This is the first time I try writing a thriller, which has always been my dream of doing professionally. Please let me know if it's thrilling enough :D
> 
> Also!! As I stated before, I had Beauty of the Beast printed. If you're interested in a copy, I'm doing a drawing in which you can win one! Just let me know in the comments if you'd want to have it (the cover art is extremely beautiful) or write me a message on my tumblr: fatgirlcosplay-kitteh.
> 
> Thank you, as usual, for reading. I'd love to talk about it, hit me up!
> 
>  
> 
> *

„This is the fourth this month,” says the nervous looking young officer as Ciel pushes up the tape fencing off the crime scene against the press of curious rubbernecks and the first, quick thinking runners of the local media. Ciel feels agitated already just knowing they are there. They sure don’t make his job easier. He steps up beside the officer and stares down at the body lying at their feet in the dirty alley, just yards away from one of the busiest streets in London, full of tourist traps, pubs, restaurants. No wonder there are so many people staring. 

Ciel puts his hands on his hips, the collar of his dark coat flipped up against the light rain misting down on them. Some of the starers are even holding umbrellas so they won’t get wet, he notices with a twitch to his eye. Bloody morons. Then again, a fresh incident of the murder spree happening in and around London must be way more interesting to these cattle than the football match on the TV screens of every pub. He sighs and squats down, noting with a wrinkle to his nose how the ends of his coat brush the wet floor with the motion. Disgusting. “Do you think this is…?” the young officer asks him nervously. He has noticed the onlookers as well. Must be his first gig, Ciel thinks tiredly. “Yes,” he says, pulling a latex glove from his pocket and snapping it over his right hand. “I believe it must be.”

The corpse before them is a young man, barely out of his teens from the looks of him. “You moved it,” Ciel says tersely; the fact that he can see part of the victim’s face is proof enough no matter how the officer stammers. “Spare me; this is ridiculous. Why would you do that? Is this your first crime scene?” He doesn’t feel any better about telling the man off in front of watchers and, likely, the man’s own superiors, but he hasn’t slept all that well and all the coffee in the world couldn’t cure him from being drowsy and irritated. Ciel prefers tea, anyway. He sighs deeply and lifts the soggy cloth covering the victim’s face. Death has left him pallid, but a film of red clings evenly to his face, even to his eyes, which are wide open, and…Ciel hears the officer retch. Apparently they haven’t gotten this high with the cloth yet. Something dark and matted protrudes from each eye. Ciel frowns and takes a hold of one of the things delicately, pulling carefully; it comes loose with little difficulty, a bit of viscous pink stuff clinging to the end which Ciel recognizes as a bit of the eyeball’s inside. Now that makes even him cringe. He holds the thing in his palm and uses a pen to smooth it out a little.  
What he sees makes him frown deeply, shake his head. “No,” he murmurs to himself. 

In his gloved hand, the thing he pulled from a serial killer’s victim’s eye unfolds into a dark bird’s feather.

“No,” he repeats, motioning for a little plastic baggie to put the feather in. I refuse to believe that, he thinks to himself, dark blue eyes moving almost frantically over the victim at his feet. 

The dead young man bears the same gruesome stamp the three others before him have; first, he’s young and must have been attractive in life, late teens to early twenties, the killer’s preferred demography. In a university town like London, this doesn’t narrow down the number of victims this spree will have taken by the time they catch the killer, if they ever will, or the suspects. The victims are never killed where they have been put to be found but must have been brought there after death; the lack of blood on the ground proves that, since it’s usually fairly clean and the bodies are bloody all over. All victims are cut open from groin to sternum, opening the belly right up. Their heads are wrapped in red hoods. 

The morons from the department have been calling it the ‘Red Riding Hood Spree’. Ciel still has the urge to roll his eyes when he thinks about it. “Well, fuck,” he says, straightening and handing the little bag to one of the CSI’s. “Get this to Dr. Midford as soon as you can. I have to talk to her about this.” The tech nods and takes the baggie from him. Ciel turns away and tries to evaluate which route away from the scene has the least press of reporters; he doesn’t want to talk to them. Eventually, he chooses the direction that leads him to his car the quickest, flipping up his collar and forcing his way through the crowd. He gets yelled at, stared at, harassed for statements. He says nothing.

Once safely in his car, he grits his teeth in the burst of fury he had to keep inside while on display; he takes his private cell phone from his pocket and dials a number that’s not saved into his contacts. As usual, he gets the machine, but he’s not worried about that. “What the fuck have you done now?! Call me!” For a moment, he misses the possibility of slamming down the receiver of an old-fashioned desk phone just to vent some of his frustration. To punish the person that will eventually listen to the message, just because he inconvenienced Ciel with this bullshit. 

When he gets to HQ, word of his discovery already made the rounds. His overly excitable colleague, an Indian man by the name of Soma, eagerly comes around to his desk the moment he sits down. “Ciel! Is it true?” Tiredly, Ciel rubs his temples. “Is what true, please be more specific.” He likes Soma, he really does, but the man grates on his nerves on his best days – which today is definitely not. “Why, that the Crow has something to do with the Red murders!”

“Oh, my god. No, Soma, you should know better. A piece of evidence doesn’t make a perp yet.” Soma sits down on his desk, leaning in. “I know that, I know. But isn’t it exciting? This could get you that promotion you’ve been working for!” Ciel manages a weak smile and a light nod. It could, indeed…if he manages to solve these crimes, keep more people from dying, and doesn’t get fired for not being quick enough. His boss hates him already, for his attitude alone; Ciel’s recon rates are fantastic, which is why he’s detective at only twenty-four. Arthur Randall, the commissioner, firmly believes Ciel landed this job simply because he’s the son of Vincent Phantomhive, who’s a higher up director with the MI6. Ciel has worked his whole life against the misconception that he’s good at school, at work, simply because people are afraid of his father. Frankly, he hasn’t spoken to the man in months; they’re not very close. He has never called in a favor with Vincent. All he has now, he has earned himself. 

It’s actually more likely for Ciel to get fired over this case than get yet another promotion. It’s the exact reason Randall gave the case to him. It’s part of the reason he hasn’t been able to sleep for the last few days. 

“Maybe,” he replies to his colleague modestly. “But, seriously, I don’t think the Crow has anything to do with the murders. It’s not his style, y’know?”

The Crow, a burglar specializing in priceless art and ancient trinkets, has been terrorizing Scotland Yard for years now. It’s believed he’s a man; his perp name comes from the lush, dark crow’s feathers he leaves in the spot he took something from. The department is very fond of ‘their’ criminals, each notorious blockhead gets a perp name and wild theories are thrown around. Ciel has been accused to be the Crow, or another of the more elusive criminals, more than once or twice. He takes it with a chuckle and a headshake usually. He sees that as a compliment; that the criminals even he can’t catch are still free simply because he’d have to lock himself up to catch them.

His colleagues couldn’t be farther from the truth. 

The Crow’s name is Sebastian, and since he has left Ciel’s bed the morning five days ago to go on a ‘mission’ in France, Ciel hasn’t been able to sleep properly. His bed seems vast and empty and cold; without Sebastian tiring him out at night until he almost forgets his name, he lies awake pondering about cases or if he’ll see the man again. What if he gets caught this time? What if he dies? What if he never comes back, bored with Ciel, and he’ll never find out what happened to him?

The what ifs are driving him mad. Now another of those has come to play in Ciel’s head – what if Sebastian is a murderer?

The Crow usually goes to great lengths to ensure no one is hurt in his thefts. He dazes the guards with sleep gas that actually gives them a very deep, very refreshing nap with no after-effects at all. Many of them later say they haven’t slept that well in years, even if it was on the floor. He never lets broken glass lie around that the guard dogs or careless guards could injure themselves on. The most he has hurt Ciel was a smack to his behind and a bite to the curve of his shoulder in one of their wilder rounds. 

Murder seems so far out that Ciel is denying it before he even finishes a thought about it. He glances at his private phone – no message yet. 

The what if won’t leave him alone.

Ciel spends the afternoon staring at the pictures and talking to Lizzie on the phone for a bit about the evidence he sent her. Dr. Midford is his cousin and the medical examiner who has been put on the case. She doesn’t have a clue so far either.

Eventually he goes home a little before night breaks, earning a disapproving look from his superior when Randall passes him in the hall, but for once, there are no condescending comments. 

In the comfort of his warm bubble bath, once he is home, Ciel replays the last time he saw Sebastian, tries to analyze if anything was different about him. 

 

**

 

There was a certain desperation in the way Sebastian kissed him. Ciel put it off as nerves before a great gig in France – he may not approve of his lover’s lifestyle, but trying to get Sebastian to quit has been about as successful as Ciel stopping to see him. Sebastian always pulled him back in, no matter what he did. The young detective surrendered to sweet, urgent kisses with the usual protests of having to get up early, followed by Sebastian’s usual not caring about that. 

In the very early morning of Tuesday, Sebastian pulled him close while Ciel was sleeping and began kissing his neck, soft, clinging presses of lips and teeth against the delicate pale skin. He moaned and squirmed, shivering at the gust of quiet laughter against the sensitive spot on his nape just below his hairline. “You are so cute when you’re sleepy,” Sebastian purred into his hair, slowly nuzzling it. His firm erection pressed into Ciel’s behind urgently and he wiggled, curving his back to accommodate the heated presence. A hand smoothed down over his chest, skimming one nipple with a soft as silk palm, downward until Sebastian could pet the soft, tender patch of skin between Ciel’s hipbone and the root of his stirring cock, devious fingertips tracing the invisible line there. “Mmmmshutup,” Ciel murmured and buried his face in the pillow. Quick fingers found his cock and wrapped around it, the pad of a thumb rubbing the very base. Ciel squirmed again with a breathless whine. “Come on, beauty, let me touch you, just one more time,” Sebastian cooed into his ear. “I have to leave in less than an hour.”

The words made Ciel turn to face him. They lay in silence for a moment, pressed so close, just staring into each other’s eyes. Ciel’s were sleepy, the dark blue of the left looking almost black with fatigue, so close that Sebastian could see the faint marring in the left orb even in the dim light of the room. Dawn crept its pale fingers over the horizon just so; everything softened and fuzzy at the edges. Ciel lifted a hand to lay it against Sebastian’s cheek, grazing his fingertips against the faintest stubble on his lover’s jaw. He wanted to ask if Sebastian really had to go, but he knew the answer without having to open his mouth. Of course he did. Instead, he laid a firm kiss onto Sebastian’s smiling mouth and slid a leg over his hip; their sex just hours ago had left him relaxed and still wet enough to allow Sebastian to slide his cock right into him. 

It’s startlingly intimate. Neither said a word, the only sounds filling the room were Sebastian’s heavy breathing and soft growls and Ciel’s gasps and quiet mewls. Sebastian swallowed his cries, kissing him breathless when Ciel came, body weak and shuddering and soon enough once again filled. Soft, meaningless words were purred into his hair as he clung to his darkhaired lover, a competent hand stroking up and down his spine.

Sebastian kissed him one last time before leaving and Ciel curled back up with all the intention of sleeping at least two hours more.

**

No matter how often Ciel goes over that scene in his mind, he can’t find anything that jumps out to him. Sebastian is usually affectionate to a fault and he hates leaving Ciel alone, especially when he has to leave the country instead of the area…but usually, he calls him as soon as he arrived and will tell him, again by phone, when the job is done and he comes home. Ciel likes that. He likes that Sebastian trusts him enough to tell him what he is doing, where he is doing it – covertly, of course, but putting his faith in Ciel not to tell anyone. Ciel needs to feel needed, trusted. 

And yet, he’s sleeping with a criminal. He’s in love with a criminal. I strayed from the path, he thinks with a deep sigh as he slides deeper in his tub. The only solace he has is the fact that he’s not actually in charge of catching thieves – his perps are exclusively killers.

As if that makes it any better. But at least he will never have to arrest Sebastian. Unless…

Ciel sits up and smooths his hair back with both hands, the wet strands clinging to his head and ears. Unless Sebastian went rogue and killed someone. He doesn’t sleep well that night, either.

When he returns to his desk in the morning, grumpy and sipping on a thermos filled with mediocre tea, because he can never get the amount of leaves right compared to Sebastian’s red tea perfection, with his phone to his ear trying to call him again and getting only the machine once again - there is a bloody crow’s feather on his desk.


	2. Strayed from the Path

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to get into the drawing for a printed copy of Beauty of the Beast!

Before Ciel became a detective in homicide, he worked in the theft department. 

It was more paperwork and less running around – after all, the tech teams did all the sweeping, he just reviewed the crime scene, determined a forced entry if there was one, and then went back to his desk to get the papers ready. It was incredibly boring. 

His job now is incredibly more exciting, but it’s also costing him sleep and makes him drink too much coffee, which he doesn’t even like. 

Back then, there was one night in particular…a full moon, a quiet museum and Ciel had snuck in before closing and hid until the patrons were ushered out, the doors locked and the lights turned off. The high windows let in enough moonlight that he could watch the gem of the exhibition, a set of jewelry that was said to have been made three thousand years ago by a sophisticated people whose civilization has long since died out. It was a choker with thick, evenly cut sapphires set into silver, which had been more valuable than gold back then, matching earrings, a few rings. All the gems had been polished and were glinting in the pale light, so gorgeous that even Ciel, who had no sense for pretty things, had to stare at them. He was sure this was the thing that damn burglar was after this time.

He had managed to foil the Crow’s plans twice before by using his analytical mind to predict what would be worth stealing considering what the criminal had stolen before. He had been right and one of those times, the Crow had almost been caught…almost. Like a bird of the night he had skipped away into shadows, but at least the valuables had been safe. Tonight, Ciel was alone. He wanted to lure the burglar into a false sense of security so he could snap the cuffs himself…desperate for appreciation, he had cooked up this plan which seemed more and more foolish the longer he stood in that dark niche, waiting. Just as he yawned for the first time, there was a deep voice speaking into his ear. “Boring, huh?”

Ciel startled and whirled around to meet a dark-clad chest on eye level, and further up warm dark eyes smiling down at him. For a moment he was stunned how handsome the man was; then he realized the only other person that should be here was a guard, this was not a guard, so he could only be the burglar. Stupidly he fumbled with his gun for a moment but the man only chuckled and nabbed it away quicker than Ciel could blink. “Hey!”

“You’re here to catch me, aren’t you,” the man grinned down, pocketing his gun. When Ciel reached for the cuffs he’d brought, a hand shot out and pushed him square in the chest, making him stumble back into a patch of moonlight. The man hissed in a breath. “Beautiful.” He stalked after Ciel, eyes intent on him and took hold of his chin. “Absolutely…oh, your eyes.” The burglar hummed, swiping a thumb beneath one of Ciel’s big blues, which got impossibly wider as the young man sputtered. Usually quite witty, he couldn’t find a single thing to say. “I wonder if…” the man hummed and from his pocket, he drew the choker – Ciel’s head snapped around to look at the display, but the necklace was still there. “Decoy,” the Crow purred as if he knew exactly what Ciel was thinking. “And they’re using it wrong. You’d think historians would be smarter. See…” The choker came down on Ciel’s head, nestling into his slate hair like a headband, the sapphires just big enough and many enough that they covered him ear to ear with the slender silver chain wrapping around the back of his head. “This is how you wear it.” 

His eyes were red, Ciel noticed, red as dried blood and he couldn’t help but shiver when that thumb stroked his cheek again. The earrings were easily clipped onto his lobes, the burglar’s hands too quick to react and then the man sank to his knees before him, covering his fingers with the rings. The sapphires matched his eyes perfectly and brought out how pale his skin was and the Crow smiled at him, impossibly handsome and not even bothering to wear something to hide that perfect face. “These are the wedding jewels of a priestess,” he said, rising again. “Every year, a young priestess would be given to whatever god was this year’s guardian as a bride. She wore these…only these.” His smirk widened. “You make a beautiful virgin sacrifice, cutie.”

Ciel snapped out of his dumb stupor and glared up at him. “I’m not…”

“What? A virgin? Cute?” The burglar seemed to be having too much fun with this. Ciel felt mocked and he hated that, taking a step back with a scowl. Then he noticed that he was wearing the prey, so to say…and he saw the exact moment the burglar realized he would run. It was the same moment he decided to. Whirling around, he got through half the atrium before the Crow had reached him; a hand snagged the back of his shirt and he was all but lifted from the ground, legs kicking futilely without traction. “Smart, cute, dumb little virgin,” the man purred but it was all malice; he plucked the gems off of Ciel and shoved them back into his pocket. He turned Ciel around and brushed his mussed hair back from his forehead. “I’ll let you live because you’re pretty,” he decided, eyes fixed on Ciel’s panting mouth. Yanking the boy against himself, he took that mouth with his own; it was so sudden and heated that Ciel could only groan and close his eyes to the kiss. 

It was deep and wet and over much too soon, leaving Ciel disoriented and stupidly horny as he was left behind. 

It turned out the burglar – Sebastian – was not able to get Ciel out of his mind the same way Ciel was unable to forget that kiss.

 

Ciel restlessly fingers the ring that is hidden under his shirt. It’s delicate and has a dark blue gem put into a silver frame; a little too big for his finger, and basically stolen goods, he keeps it on a thin silver necklace. Sebastian gave that to him when they started dating…if it can be called dating, because Sebastian likes to keep a low profile, so they mostly stay in, cuddle on the couch, have mindblowing sex. If they do go out, Ciel makes sure he drives as far away from home as it reasonable to have dinner or see a movie. The ring he wore the night Sebastian first kissed him though is a treasured thing for him, and guilty as he feels about keeping it, he can’t just give it back. In times like these, when he doesn’t know if Sebastian will return to him, it gives him some strength.

He’s pacing the front room of the morgue, irritating Lizzie’s assistant, who is trying to do some paperwork. “Ciel,” snaps the young darkhaired woman. “I swear if you don’t stop running left and right like a bloody idiot I’ll have you removed.” He scowls, but he stops. “Sorry. I’m…yeah, I’m sorry.” Sieglinde waves a hand in a dismissive gesture. “It’s fine. You need to get laid, seriously. You’re always so tense.” He gives her a distracted smile. Sometimes he doesn’t know if the German girl is messing or flirting with him; both possibilities are a little uncomfortable. “I suppose you can go back now. Just don’t touch anything.”

Ciel nods and heads through the door that will lead him through a long, cool corridor and then into one of the rooms that Lizzie uses for her job. He can usually tell which one she occupies at the time of his visit; she’s fond of blasting music while working. “Ciel! Hi! Come on in,” she chirps when he knocks on the doorframe, the door open already. She steps close to give him a one-armed hug, the other hand is holding some sort of medical instrument and her arm is red with blood. “This is your case, right? I got him this morning. Look,” she turns back to the table where, indeed, the victim from last night lies, looking much more peaceful than in the streets even with the gaping wound. Lizzie has clips holding the skin and tissue of the stomach apart so she can see inside. “Serrated knife, see the edges?” She runs a gloved finger along one ragged stripe of flesh. “Also, the fabric of the hoods is actually white.”

Ciel frowns. “White? No, they’re blood red.” He can see one of them laying on a cabinet not too far away. Lizzie nods. “Yes, but the original color is white. I have determined that the red color comes from blood, and I found fibers of that fabric in the belly, so…” She shrugs. “The belly was opened first, most probably while the vic was still alive, then the hood was drenched inside the abdominal cavern and then put over the vic’s head. Which means that this poor kid had the feathers poked into his eyes before he died, too, since they’re absolutely drenched with the blood but only up to the point where they disappeared into the eyeball.” She’s so cheery about it that Ciel can’t help but grimace. She used to talk about the components of ice cream in the same tone when they were kids. It’s a little sickening. “Alright, so they weren’t killed where they were found, as I suspected.”

“Absolutely impossible,” she agrees. “They must have been placed there, else someone would have heard them screaming. Even with a gag it would have been loud, and the vocal chords are intact, I checked that too. There should have been way more blood, too, if they had been killed where they were placed.” Ciel rubs his temples. “So there is someone out there who brings people back to, say, a cabin in the woods or something as remote, kills them, and drives them back into the city? To what end? What’s the point?”

Lizzie smiles lightly, shrugging again. “It’s possible that they want to be recognized for what they did. You know, many killers are desperate to get caught, that’s what I usually hear when I talk to the psychologist.” Ciel makes a face. “It’s possible. I just would like more leads. Can you send the fibers to the lab and see if they can find out where the fabric comes from? I don’t even have tire tracks yet. This is a nightmare.”

“I believe you should talk to the psychologist. Really. He might be able to offer you some more input.”

“Alright. Thanks, Lizzie.”

“Hey, let’s catch a movie this weekend.” Ciel agrees and kisses his cousin’s cheek before walking out. He offers Sieglinde a wave as she is on the phone and leaves the building to head over to the police psychologist’s office.

He hates the little twerp. Alois Trancy is a few years older than he is and graduated with such high marks that he was immediately recruited into Scotland Yard. The Trancy family is also somewhat related to The Phantomhives and Midfords….Alois and Ciel share a great-great-grandmother, a few generations back. Alois can’t help but it in Ciel’s face whenever they meet.

“It’s admirable, isn’t it?” the blond coos at the young detective sitting slouched in front of his desk, eyeing him warily. Alois is in high spirits, beaming and his cerulean eyes are glittering; his hair is messy as usual, something Ciel despises. “It’s murder, Trancy. That’s hardly admirable.” Alois, as usual, waves away his concerns. He leans back in his highbacked chair, the purple of his shirt bringing out his eyes. Ciel thinks it’s a gaudy color. “You’re always so dour. Relax a little. You need to get laid, kid.”

Hearing that twice in one day, twice in an hour actually, does nothing to make Ciel miss Sebastian any less. “Yeah, so I’ve heard. The case, Trancy. Talk to me.” Alois heaves a sigh and pulls closer a file that lays at the far end of his needlessly grand desk. “Fine, fine. Don’t get your panties in a twist. You’re wearing panties, right, bad boy? Anyhoo,” he flips open the folder when Ciel glares at him. “I’ve made some notes. The covering of the head could be a pathological sign of guilt. Maybe the criminal doesn’t want to murder them; could be a schizophrenic disorder. Voices, you know? The current belief is that the victims are killed somewhere else and then put somewhere they can be easily found – maybe to create a panic, maybe to recognize the very skill the perp has. He’s playing you, he knows he’s playing you, and he knows he can win if he’s careful enough, but a game without risk is no fun, you know? He needs an adversary. He needs an arch enemy that is as clever as he is.”

“Why are you so sure it’s a male perp?”

Alois shrugs. “I’m just assuming. There’s no definite MO to recognize by if the killer is a man or a woman – they used to say a woman murders with poison while a man kills brutally, but you know what? There are elderly men that silence annoying neighborhood dogs with poisonous meat and people that have run into a woman’s knife ten times, if you get my meaning.” Ciel nods; as much as he hates to admit it, Alois does make sense when he’s not being an annoying bitch. “So I’m only assuming it’s a man because the bodies were dead when they were put down to be found, and none of them are exceptionally tiny. Dead weight is called that for a reason. They’re heavy. If this was a woman, at least on her own, she has to work out like, hardcore.”

Ciel contemplates that, brooding in silence. He doesn’t want to completely rule out a female perp, but it sounds less and less convincing. Sebastian is very strong. He could easily…no. he shuts down that train of thought immediately. There’s no proof yet.

“You’re thinking about the feathers,” Alois says after watching him for a moment. Ciel nods. “It’s odd, isn’t it?”

“No,” says Alois and smirks. “It’s not odd at all. You went famous with the Crow case…even if you didn’t solve it. Whoever this is, they want to play with you. You’re the arch enemy in this scenario.” Ciel scoffs. “I believe the killer would be the enemy, don’t you think? If we’re talking labels?”

“No,” Alois replies softly, watching him with his head canted a bit. “Not from his point of view.”

 

Ciel is even more tired when he finally gets home that evening. All he wants is fall into bed and pass out; he’s had a cup of warm milk with honey, something Sebastian makes him when he can’t sleep, and he tried to call the man again…twice, without success. The phone is still off, or out of reach, or Sebastian doesn’t want to talk right now. Ciel flips back the covers of his neatly made bed and the half empty cup of milk drops from his suddenly lifeless fingers and spills all over the hardwood floor. 

On the sheets, right where his chest would rest if he lay in it, clings a dark raven feather caked in blood.


End file.
